


Snow on Snow

by GingerKI



Series: Summers' Winters [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Childbirth, Comfort/Angst, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.A holiday season follow up to "Krampusnacht" set one year later. This will probably make more sense if you read that one first.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Series: Summers' Winters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130081
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue: Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.
> 
> Story title from the poem "In the Bleak Midwinter" by English poet, Christina Rosetti, first published in Scribner's under the title "A Christmas Carol" (1872) then published in "Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems" (1875). You may know it best as a Christmas carol.

Spike looked over at the women curled up on the seat across from his on the private jet Rupert had pried open the Council coffers to charter for this very important journey. They were both sound asleep. He smiled tenderly. He might as well have _Property of the Summers Family_ branded on his forehead because it was true enough. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Thinking back on it, and these days he had _a lot_ of time to think about all sorts of things in the wee hours, he knew the moment his attachment to these sometimes confounding, occasionally infuriating, often amazing, and always lovable creatures had begun, and it was before one of them truly existed even if she had been written into the memory of it retroactively. It was the night nearly a decade earlier when he – an evil, lovesick sod willing to make a bargain with his mortal enemy to get his bird back – had first stepped foot inside 1630 Revello Drive.

Of course, in keeping with a lifetime followed by an after-lifetime of experience, none of it had gone to plan. He never got the bird back, not really, and ended up deeply, hopelessly in love with the mortal enemy. But, as he had only recently come to realize, the first steps towards where he was now were over the threshold into the Summers home on that long-ago night. Unbeknownst to him at the time, the quiet strength, warmth and love permeating Joyce’s household had seeped into his wicked bones on that first visit where it ultimately took hold and made him _want_. And want not only her first born, his magnificent adversary who had managed to compel a creature driven solely by its desires for over a century to redefine the term _want_ , but also to want to be _part of something_ , to regain something he had lost when Dru remade him. _A home._ These beautiful sleeping women were his home.

The warm bundle in his arms began to squirm, almost as if to assert _Hey, what about me?_ He looked down to see her gazing up at him with soul-piercing eyes that were a breathtaking (even to a bloke who technically didn’t need to breathe) combination of green and blue. He was so buggered, anticipating all the ways she would torment him, would break his heart then knit it up again. He could see it already, when she was being fussy and would shoot him a look of utter disdain at his pathetic attempts to soothe her so reminiscent of her Mum that it would make him fall all over again. Head over heels. Ass over tea kettle. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Exhilarating because he and Buffy had made the exquisite little human cradled in his arms. Terrifying because they had no idea how. Or why.

“S’alright, Dove, just letting Mum and Auntie get some kip before we land,” Spike whispered, kissed her forehead then continued, “Won’t be long now. Need to see an important lady about you. Then we can carry on with our Christmas holidays.”

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 1: Surprise

**11 Months Earlier**

Dawn knocked softly on the bathroom door then waited. After a beat she heard a wan, “Come in,” then opened the door to find Buffy perched on the closed toilet seat, staring blankly into space.

“Well?” she inquired then followed her sister’s gaze to the three pregnancy tests lined up on the vanity. Moving in for a closer look, Dawn gasped then squealed, “I knew it! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” then continued or rather babbled, “Spike is gonna wig when you tell him! You’re going to wait until he gets back from L.A., right? This isn’t something you should tell a guy over the phone. He promised he’d wrap things up early because he’s worried about you. He’s called me twice already this week to ask if you’re okay because you always sound so tired on the phone. Well, at least we know why now and it’s not because you’re dying or anything so yay… Oh my God!”

“I don’t… how?” Buffy muttered.

“I don’t have to lecture my big sister on birth control and safe sex, do I?”

“Spike’s a _dead guy_ , remember? His swimmers _don’t swim…_ or aren’t supposed to anyway, and for us, _safe sex_ is when there’s minimal property damage.”

“Ugh, you two… maybe Spike’s _different?_ ”

“Whatever… however this… it’s new. Otherwise he _so_ would have knocked me up the year we were… we… we had sex hundreds of times and _being safe_ was the furthest thing from my mind back then.”

Dawn frowned at the reference to a year she would just as soon not think about ever again then shook it off and posited, “His soul? Angel’s got a kid now.”

“Maybe… I… I just don’t know… what this _even is…_ ”

Dawn crouched in front of her big sister-protector-most important person in the world to her, took her hands in hers, and giving them a reassuring squeeze, offered, “We’ll figure it out. Spike will be home in a few days and we’ll figure it all out. Until then, you’ll rest as much as you need to and tell me what you need to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Buffy repeated with a wry chuckle then remarked, “I think _comfortable_ just flew out the window.”

* * * *

Spike sat at the foot of the bed, wary as he watched Buffy pace the room. He had known _something_ was up the moment Dawn opened the door a little too quickly, spoke a little too perkily as she welcomed him back to what had become his de facto home ever since Christmas, then grabbed her coat and immediately scarpered. While he appreciated her willingness to give him and her big sister privacy to _say hello_ properly after almost two weeks in L.A. sorting out the new normal with Peaches, there was something manic about Snack Size’s demeanor that put him on alert.

As it was, the Slayer had been a bit off her game even before he’d left for the States right after the new year, what with that bout of food poisoning laying her low for a few days. He had wanted to postpone his trip, but she had assured him that she was fine and told him to go; the sooner he got it over with the sooner he’d be back. Now she looked right knackered and, when they’d kissed hello, he could detect that she had been sick again recently even under the minty camouflage of toothpaste. And there was something… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but she just seemed _different_ somehow. One look into her eyes told him there was trouble brewing. Was she ill? After all, her mum… no, he couldn’t even think it.

“Okay, Summers, out with it before I lose my sodding mind with worry.”

Buffy sighed then turned and flopped down beside him. She sat there in silence for a few more excruciating moments before she began, “You’re not going to believe this…”

* * * *

Giles thoroughly cleaned his glasses as an awkward silence hung over the room. Buffy sat with her eyes cast in the general vicinity of her feet. Dawn stood next to her with her arms folded at her chest. Spike paced the room like a caged animal. God, he needed a cup of tea. Or a double scotch. Preferably both. Not necessarily in that order. Acknowledging that he could no longer put off the inevitable, he put his glasses back on and cleared his throat then stated, “Right, well the midwife Willow referred you to…”

“Sally,” Dawn interjected.

  
“Right, Sally… has confirmed that you are just shy of two months into by all appearances a textbook, healthy pregnancy based on the timing of your last…” Giles cleared his throat again.

“The first day of her last period,” the younger Summers jumped in to rescue him. He noted that she really had grown into a remarkable young woman.

“That’s what we _do_ know,” Spike remarked with a deeply furrowed brow then threw his hands up and added, “What we _don’t_ bloody know is _how_ or, the real punchline, _why._ ”

“Quite, but given what we _do_ know, it’s safe to say that this happened very shortly after the two of you became… reacquainted.” Sod the tea, he _really_ needed that double scotch.

Buffy finally spoke, explaining, “Yeah, I mean, it was a few days after Christmas that I started to feel _meh_ and I was already late, but I figured it was just the excitement of everything and… this is a new level of weird, Giles, even for us.” She placed a hand over her face and shook her head.

Smiling indulgently, he responded, “I am a middle-aged British man, Buffy, and as such shall always be hopelessly awkward, but you should not feel that way. My culturally-infused discomfort aside, your safety and the safety of your unborn child are paramount.”

Giles noted that at the mention of the child, Spike appeared to grow even paler than usual. He briefly flipped through his mental file cabinet to recall if he had ever read or heard of a documented case of a vampire fainting then went on, “Given the known timeline, as far as I know – and please correct me if I’m mistaken – there was only one incident around that time which could be considered out of the ordinary.”

“Oh my God, why didn’t _I_ think of that?” Buffy lamented with a heavy sigh.

“Well, bugger me,” Spike concurred in the manner typical of him.

“Huh?” Dawn asked.

“Krampus, the night Spike and I ran into each other in Austria.”

“More precisely, your consequent encounter with Hel, whose domain is the underworld, presiding over the dead. Such a being may possess the type of power to make…”

“A dead man a father… Christ,” Spike muttered.

“But why? Why us? I mean, we spent like five minutes in her company and she didn’t seem all that impressed with either one of us.”

“That’s an excellent question, Buffy, and one I shall examine at length.”

“Can’t we just bloody ask her?!?!”

Giles could not remember ever seeing Spike in a state of such profound anxiety, not even when he’d shown up at his door years earlier, newly implanted with a microchip in his brain and starving. He drew in a breath then calmly explained, “I’m afraid not, at least not at the moment. Even with the powerful covens at our disposal, it would be inadvisable to try to open the door to her dimension, and except for performing an intervention with a disobedient child, apparently, from what I’ve read in the wake of your encounter, the only time she visits this dimension is on or around the Yule, the Winter Solstice.”

“I think she mentioned the Solstice,” Buffy commented.

“Did,” Spike confirmed then added with a frown, “Sprog will be here months before then. What in bloody blazes are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Our very best to keep Buffy and the baby safe,” Giles replied resolutely.

“Well, it’s all the same to you, Rupert, I’m going to get some expert advice that I don’t have to wait all bloody year for.”

Giles nodded in acquiescence. He really could not blame his undead compatriot for his unease. This situation was most unusual; the more light to be shed on the matter, the better.

* * * *

Angel was tired. All he wanted to do was give Nina a quick call to let her know he was okay after a particularly tricky assignment and maybe make plans to get together later now that he had some downtime, heat up a mug of blood then call it a night. No such luck as his senses screamed _vampire!_ the moment he’d entered the lobby of the Hyperion and _family!_ the closer he got to his office, the door to which was ajar. Rolling his eyes, he pushed it open and was not at all surprised to find Spike sitting in _his_ chair with his feet on _his_ desk drinking _his_ blood from _his_ mug. Shooting him a look as he entered his office, he remarked, “Back so soon? Trouble in paradise already?”

Okay, so that sounded a bit more petty and bitter than he had intended but it had been a long night and brushes with dusting tended to make him irritable. As did Spike’s cockiness. And, he had to admit to himself, despite the sense of inevitability and dread he’d felt ever since Spike had beaten him to the Cup of Perpetual Mountain Dew, the fact that Buffy and Spike were _really together_ now stung and probably always would. Partly because Buffy would forever represent all the things that would never be, but also because, deep down, he knew that Spike was just better at relationships than he was. The pain in the ass was _built_ for belonging, throwing everything he was into it, while Angel knew that he would always hold something of himself back. He had to or _really bad things_ would happen but, he also knew, Liam had never put his heart on the line for anyone when he was alive, and Angelus did not exist yet.

“You could say that,” Spike replied, his expression and tone giving Angel pause.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he took a seat in one of his guest chairs.

“You’re not going to bloody believe it when I tell you.”

“Try me.”

“Buffy and me… we… we’re in the family way.”

“You’re what?!?!”

“Think you heard me with those enhanced vampire ear holes of yours.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Says the father of a fully-human grown man born to _another vampire_ , what, four years ago?”

“Four years last November but that’s…”

“Oh, right, different because it’s you.”

“But how?”

“Well, Peaches, when a slayer and a vampire love each other very much…”

“Spike…”

Silence fell as Angel’s mind reeled. He was barely used to the idea of Buffy and Spike together and now this. Forget the curse, _Spike_ was his eternal punishment for almost a century and a half of evil deeds. But none of that mattered now because there was an _innocent_ involved. A _baby._ _Buffy’s baby._ That also happened to be _Spike’s baby._ Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he’d wake up and this would all be a dream. A really surreal, really bad dream.

“Spike, what did _you do?_ ”

Spike swept his legs off the desk, bolted to his feet, threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, “What did _I do?!?!_ Fuck if I know! Shagged the woman who means more to me than my own sorry excuse for an existence is what I did! Like I’ve done many… and I mean _many…_ times before and no baby because, hello, vampire! And I’m terrified, for… for Buffy… for the whole bleeding planet because I’ve no sodding clue _how_ or _why!_ You know that when unexpected things happen to you or me it’s gonna go tits up because, you and me, we’re bloody chaos on four legs!”

Angel blinked away from him, his lips quirking as the true reason for this unexpected visit hit home. Spike wasn’t here to gloat; he was here because he was terrified at the prospect of being the undead father of a human baby. When he looked up again Spike had moved around the desk, on the edge of which he now sat with his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, his eyes glued to those horrible boots he insisted on wearing.

“Told Buffy she didn’t have to go through with it, that she needed to think of herself first.”

“What did she say?”

“Didn’t say anything. Punched me in the nose and stormed off. Locked herself in the loo.”

Smiling ruefully, Angel rose from his seat, turned and took a seat beside him, folded his arms then remarked, “Well, you know what that means. Buffy wants to have your baby… sheesh, I knew _that_ was going to be unpleasant but _actually_ hearing those words come out of my own mouth? Wow.”

“Hardy, har, har… But seriously, Angel, I’ve killed kids, you know it.”

“And I’ve killed more. I’ve also saved kids. And so have you.”

“There’s gotta be a price though, yeah? Look what happened to you and your boy. My own suffering matters naught but if something like that ever happened to Buffy… couldn’t stand it. Would send myself to Hell first.”

“What happened when Connor was a baby is something I wouldn’t wish on… hmm, I usually finish that statement with _Spike_ …” Angel nudged him with his shoulder then went on, “So, we’ll make damn sure that nothing like it happens to your kid. At the first hint of trouble, call and I’ll be there. You have my word.”

“That’s… thank you, Angel,” Spike offered with a rare note of sincerity when addressing him.

“This is Buffy we’re talking about and, well, whether I like it or not, little late to do anything about it now, we’re family.”

“Don’t deserve this. Any of it. Don’t deserve Buffy, let alone _her child_.”

“Yeah, well it’s taken me a long time, but I’ve learned that if you get too caught up in what you think you do or don’t _deserve_ , you’re not doing the deserving people around you any good. God, those late nights holding Connor in my arms, just the two of us, they were the best of my entire existence, living or dead.”

“How do you figure? Angelus never made an appearance, did he?”

“There was nothing _perfect_ about my happiness. I was a nervous wreck, wondering how I was going to raise a human baby, if he would resent all the things I wouldn’t be able to do for him, like show up for any event that took place outdoors in daylight.”

“He’s alright, yeah?”

“He stopped by over the holidays. He’s good.”

“Boy’s got Darla’s eyes.”

“Yeah, he does…”

“Christ, aren’t we a pair…”

A heavy silence settled over the room until something occurred to Angel and he broke it with, “The producer from Pacific Palisades with the haunted movie set? Last summer? You remember him?”

“Yeah, seemed a nice enough bloke for a Hollywood type.”

“Just got a case of good rye from him as a belated holiday gift. Wanna bust into it?”

“God yes.”

* * * *

Buffy awoke from her nap and stared up at the ceiling of her new bedroom. Of all the probable outcomes of life as a slayer who’d managed to survive into adulthood, holing up in a fortress in Devon surrounded by a powerful coven of witches, several of whom were also certified midwives, to gestate the baby she had conceived with her vampire lover had _so not_ been on her BINGO card. But here she was. The 64-thousand-dollar question was whether she’d be doing this without her baby’s father because, whatever reaction she had been expecting from Spike, _shocked into near-paralysis_ had not been it.

She didn’t know why it bugged her so much that he had gone running back to Angel so soon after learning he was going to be a father. Sure, it made sense on one level since Angel had been there done that, but her insecurity made her wonder if he had gone back to L.A. because he really wasn’t down for this. It had only been a few days, and Spike had called her every day since his departure to check on her (except today, unless she had slept through the call), but it just wasn’t the same as having him here.

She slowly rose into a half-seated position then switched on the bedside lamp and grabbed the sleeve of saltines Willow had left on the bedside table for her along with a bottle of mineral water. Tears stung her eyes – damn pregnancy hormones – as she polished off half of the sleeve while thinking about the cocoon of love and affection her sister and closest circle (the small number of people in the know about her current situation) had built around her.

Dawn had only reluctantly returned to school but was adamant that she would take a leave of absence for fall term so that she would be there to assist when the baby came. Willow and Giles had arranged her pre-natal care and devised what they believed was the safest course of action for the pregnancy and birth. Xander had taken it better than she’d expected – after going completely white and needing to put his head between his knees upon hearing the news – and turned up the next day with an adorable teddy bear (although Buffy suspected that the baby’s father’s opinion of bears may have factored into the choice of stuffed animal). Even Faith, with whom Buffy had confided as the second-most senior slayer, had been uncharacteristically sweet about it. Well, once she had stopped laughing.

She set aside the saltines and grabbed the bottled water, cracking it open and taking a few sips. She sat back against the headboard and sighed. She felt pretty good after her nap… well, for someone who these days generally felt like her body had been invaded by aliens. This place suited her, made her feel safe. She placed a hand on her still-flat belly – she had actually dropped about a pound and a half between the puking and general aversion to so many foods she had adored just weeks earlier (all of which Sally had assured her was totally normal) – and smiled.

It was just weird how, once the shock had worn off, a powerful sensation of _yes_ had overtaken her despite the complete absurdity of the idea of her as a mom. She couldn’t imagine half the challenges her mother had faced and totally nailed, even before her daughter had been called as a slayer, but she wanted this anyway. A lot, clearly, because the whole thing made her feel… _vulnerable._ She couldn’t do this alone. _She needed_ instead of _being needed_ and that was new. Or, at least, her acknowledgement and acceptance of that fact was new. It was all new. She just wished…

She was so deep in thought that she jumped at the sound of a knock on her door. Sitting up straighter she called out, “Come in!”

“Hello, pet.”

She immediately burst into tears. Damn pregnancy hormones. He was across the room with vampiric speed and on the bed with her, pulling her into his arms. She felt his cool lips on her temple… so nice, and that made her cry even harder, and she was afraid that crying so hard might make her throw up because these days _everything_ made her throw up.

“What’s this then?” Spike whispered into her hair as he rocked her gently in his arms.

Buffy closed her eyes and allowed herself to surrender to his embrace and, wow, that did the trick because she immediately began to calm down. She really did love the idiot. So much.

“I… I was… afraid…”

“Always come back to you, love, just needed to sort a few things out is all.”

Regaining her composure, Buffy looked into Spike’s eyes and said, “I know it’s… it’s a lot. I’ve been thinking about it and it would be even if we weren’t… _us._ Even if we were just a regular couple who got back together after years apart and immediately got pregnant and, even if I thought I would do this someday, I didn’t think I’d be doing it _now_ but… I… I just… really, really want this. I don’t even know why. Probably for all the _wrong_ reasons. Maybe I… I don’t know, maybe after years of life being so much about _death,_ I want to prove to myself that it can be about something else, something lighter. That I can make a life instead of taking one or being responsible in some way for one ending.”

“Buffy, you don’t owe _anyone_ , including me, an explanation. Been watching people bring other people into the world for years. Far as I can tell, most of them did it because it was what other people expected them to do.”

“Are you alright, Spike?”

“Scared shitless, thank you very much, and happily so for you, for our little one. What about you, pet, how are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

“Was rotten of me to run off like that with you in a delicate condition. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I feel really _delicate_ when I’m puking my guts out, and don’t be. You’re here now, where you can watch me get big as a house while being fussed over by a coven of witches. It’ll be like a dream come true for you,” she tacked on with a roll of her eyes.

“Any witch looking after my wife and baby is alright by me.”

“Wife? Uh, did I miss something?”

“Can’t make it official – don’t exactly have legal standing do I – but in all the ways that matter, every minute of every day, you are my wife, and I am your husband. For as long as you’ll have me, Buffy, I am yours,” Spike stated as he gazed intently into her eyes.

She felt her eyes welling up again and thought, to hell with that, there were better things to do. They hadn’t touched, _really touched,_ in weeks, not since before he left for L.A. the first time. Between her fatigue and nausea, the shock and his hasty departure, they had hardly shared more than a few cursory kisses. She missed his touch and since she was feeling well this evening, she realized that she was craving it. She pulled him into a tender, loving kiss that soon turned passionate.

“You sure, love?” he panted against her lips.

  
“Hell yeah,” she gasped when he reached _that spot_ on her neck then added, “Sally told me that sex is perfectly safe for a low-risk pregnancy like mine and will help me stay connected with my partner.”

“Even the way _we_ do it?” he inquired, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“We’ll stick to soft surfaces only and won’t demolish any buildings,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

“God, I love you,” he growled then kissed her again.

He peeled away her clothing as if unwrapping a gift then explored her body like he was seeing it for the first time. The only visible sign of the baby they were expecting was the new fullness of her breasts, which he immediately took note of and gently measured with his hands and mouth, somehow knowing exactly how to touch the tender, sensitized flesh. She in turn made quick work of his clothing, his cool skin feeling like heaven against hers which, of late, had started to feel too warm, like she was encased in a giant wool sock that she couldn’t kick off. It was slow and sweet and loving and, afterwards, he lay his head against her navel and whispered sweet words to their baby until her stomach growled and he looked amusedly up at her. She shrugged and smiled impishly.

“And what is your heart’s desire, my queen?”

“Avocado on toast with a pinch of salt and just a tiny smidge of lime juice.”

“Right.” Spike sat up and ran a hand through his hair then reached for his jeans and, standing up to put them on, noted, “Need to find my way ‘round this place.”

“Kitchen’s left at the bottom of the stairs, but I’m not an invalid. I _can_ get my own snack,” Buffy stated even as she felt no inclination to move.

“You, stay put,” he advised then pulled his shirt over his head and said, “Be back in two shakes,” then was gone.

Buffy settled into the warm bed, sighed contentedly, and smiled. She could get used to Spike making love to her then indulging her late-night cravings. In fact, she was planning on it.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 2: Anticipation

“God, I hope this works out,” Buffy stated with a sigh as she watched the Norwegian countryside swathed in darkness roll by from the passenger seat of the SUV they’d picked up at Tromsø Airport.

“It will,” Spike insisted from behind the wheel.

“She still asleep back there?” Buffy asked, addressing her sister.

“Yeah, out like a light,” Dawn replied.

“Good, but I hope she’ll sleep tonight. I mean, she’s _over three months old,_ Spike. Giles can’t keep calling in markers to put off registering her birth, not to mention whatever it took for us to make this trip without a passport for her. Even _you_ have one which, again thank you Giles, is convincing enough to get you across international borders.”

“Never needed one before,” he replied with a sniff.

“But now you have to do it traveling as a family man with humans, you know, _warm blooded and need to breathe_ so no stowing away in cargo, and you can’t fall back on just snacking on the border agent if you get stopped. Besides, we can’t live like this forever. I mean, I’m _so_ grateful to the coven for… well, _everything_ , but I really want to get back to my… to _our_ place, even if we have to find a bigger place in one of the most expensive cities on Earth.”

“The upside to living on a hellmouth, cheap real estate,” Dawn remarked from the back seat then added, “Oh, and it would be _swell_ to have something to call my niece besides sweetie, cutie-pie, and Little Miss Cuddle-pants.”

“Over a century as an evil sod, never sunk so low as that last one.”

“Then give me something else to call her.”

“Working on it, Bit. Soon as we’ve got this sorted, we’ll settle on her name and make her an official Brit,” he assured with a proud smile.

“I sure hope so; the two of you have been debating it long enough.”

“We want to be sure that there’s nothing… we don’t want to pick a name that’ll be… an issue… later on.”

“You mean you want to make sure that she isn’t, say, some kind of interdimensional key and mistakenly give her a name that turns out to be an incantation that’ll open a portal to Hell. Hey, I _totally_ get it,” Dawn responded with a shrug.

Buffy looked back at her sister and gave her a knowing smile. That was a concern, to be sure, but only part of the obstacle to naming their daughter. They had gone back and forth about it, ruling out the names of people they had lost because, ultimately, they had concluded she would have enough of a burden to bear being _their kid_ , she didn’t need the extra baggage of a name associated with grief and trauma. It was not as though the people they’d lost had died peacefully in their sleep after long and happy lives. Not even Joyce who, while having died a _natural_ death, had departed appallingly too soon and, if the world were at all a just place, would be here today as a young, beautiful, and energetic grandmother to their daughter. The fact that their baby’s existence was still a well-guarded secret hadn’t forced a decision and with no looming state-imposed deadline, the debate dragged on.

“So, we leave here knowing exactly how and why we made her, and she leaves here with her name,” Buffy stated then muttered under her breath, “No pressure.”

* * * *

_Guinevere had golden hair_ _  
Like yours, m'lady, like yours  
Streaming out  
When we'd ride  
Through the warm wind down by the bay  
Yesterday_

Buffy padded down the hallway on her way back from the bathroom, stopping outside her bedroom door, which she’d left open a crack, to listen as Spike sang softly to their daughter with that gorgeous voice of his, the voice that was probably the tipping point in becoming lovers because, while she may have been practically catatonic that year, she wasn’t made of stone. She’d defy any woman, any straight woman anyway, to withstand those eyes and those cheekbones and those lips, to say nothing of the rest of him, and that voice. Second thought, she wouldn’t. He was _all hers._ She realized that Dawn was standing in the doorway of her room, apparently listening too. Their eyes met, her sister shook her head and smiled then turned into her own room and shut the door behind her. The singing had stopped so she pushed open the door and went in, closing it softly behind her.

Padding over to the bed, she recalled, “My mother loved that song, would always ask Dad to turn it up when it came on the radio, hum along to it. Said it was one of her favorites ever since she was a kid. I think she was like 10 or 11 when it came out.”

“’69 so I reckon that’s about right.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit with your bad boy punk rock image,” she observed as she slipped into bed beside him.

“Ramones are for daytime only, trying to get her to settle down for the night. Besides, right pretty tune is that.”

“Isn’t there a line about pentagrams?”

“Yeah, suppose it’s a bit on the nose for a sprite what’s been surrounded by witches since the day she was born.”

“Think she’ll go down now?”

“Fighting it tooth and nail, our little live wire, but that full belly’s pulling her under. Had a nappy change after tea and gave Daddy a mighty belch, didn’t you, Dove?” he added sweetly then kissed the baby’s forehead.

“I swear she drained me dry. Think it’s because she’s the daughter of a vampire?” Buffy asked, scrunching up her nose.

Spike cast her a dubious look then smiled as the baby’s eyes slipped closed. They exchanged a nod then he slowly rose from the bed and gently placed her in the travel baby cot they had received from Auntie Willow that they were using for the first time. While it looked standard issue, it was enhanced with a protection spell that would throw up a force field if anyone other than family or close friends attempted to access the baby. If activated, an alarm of sorts would sound and either Willow or another powerful member of the coven would be there in a literal flash to whisk her to safety if her parents were incapacitated… or worse.

Rejoining Buffy on the bed he inquired, “How you holding up, love? You alright?”

“Yes,” she replied on a sigh then added, “I just want… to know, you know? So we can either stop worrying so much and just overreact the way all new parents do, or start worrying more because there is something very big and very bad coming for us. It’s the _not knowing_ that’s driving me nuts.”

“Come here,” Spike softly commanded, folded her into his arms then whispered, “Just one more day, pet. Solstice is tomorrow. We made it.”

* * * *

Dawn entered the kitchen to find her sister seated at the table, her niece chilling in her lounger on the table in front of her mother, and her vampire-in-law at the microwave heating up a mug of blood. A wave of affection and wonder broke over her. Occasionally it would hit her how mundanely domestic the world’s most unlikely parents were. Then again, for all his bad boy bluster, Spike had been a surprisingly reliable and capable caretaker to her that awful summer when they’d both thought Buffy was gone forever. She would miss them all when she returned to school in a few weeks which, assuming the answers they got tonight weren’t of the _imminent apocalypse_ variety, she had promised them both she would do for spring term.

Making a beeline for the coffee pot she observed, “This place is so cozy. I didn’t see it last night, probably because I was so tired, but there’s a cute little building in the yard. I checked it out and it has a hearth. To cook over. There’s even a kettle. We can make hot cocoa. It’s not as cold here as I thought it would be either.”

“Gulf Stream moderates the temperature in these parts,” Spike explained then took a sip from his mug.

“Yay, Gulf Stream,” Buffy cooed with a bright smile as she tickled the baby’s kicking feet.

“What time do we have to leave?” Dawn asked as she took a seat across from her sister.

“We’re supposed to meet our guide at 7:00, so I reckon we should be on the road by 6:15,” Spike replied.

“Well, there’s no avoiding it, that leaves all day and no excuse not to catch up on some reading unless… do you need anything, Buffy?”

“Nah,” her sister replied, her eyes still glued to her daughter. “I’m good.”

_You really are,_ Dawn thought as she smiled into her coffee mug.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Guinivere," written by David Crosby and performed by Crosby Stills and Nash, was released in 1969 when Joyce Summers would have been (per canon) eleven years old. It's a song from my older brother's (who was, as it happens, born the same year as Joyce) record collection that I've always loved and, recently, got to thinking about how pretty it would sound resonating from the Lips of Spike.


	4. Chapter 3: Innocence

**3 Months and 3 Weeks Earlier**

“You doing alright there, mate?” Sally inquired as she eyed the father-to-be from her position between Buffy’s knees.

“Am I…” Spike muttered, looking confused by her question.

“You’ve gone a little…” Willow explained amiably from her spot on the other side of the mother-to-be who was now very much a mother-in-progress then pointed to her face and added, “Around the…”

He shook off his game face but still looked utterly bewildered.

Buffy groaned then snapped, “Oh for Pete’s sake, Spike, get up here! Switch places with Dawn!”

“Are you sure you really want _me_ down _there?_ ” her sister asked from her post at Buffy’s head.

“Switch…” Spike uttered distractedly as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“So help me, I _will_ kill you _both_!”

Heads down, Spike and Dawn immediately and wordlessly switched places. Sally gave one of Buffy’s knees a gentle, encouraging squeeze then assured, “We’re in the homestretch now, Buffy. Just give me a few more of those slayer-force pushes, and your daughter will be out here with us.”

“She better or she’s grounded until she’s 30,” Buffy grunted.

* * * *

“This is _so_ weird. We made a _person_ , and now I’m _literally_ a Happy Meal on legs,” Buffy remarked as she nursed the baby.

Perched stiffly on the edge of the bed beside her, Spike’s face fell, and he started to cry. Again.

“I didn’t mean… I was kidding,” she said as she reached out for his hand, which she guided to their daughter’s back.

“Before, when I… it… it was because you’re my mate, and you were suffering so, and I…”

“Spike, I know. That was… _intense._ But it’s over now and she’s here. What do you think of her?”

“I don’t have words. She’s…” More tears.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be a hormonal mess. C’mon you, over here.” She nodded at the empty space on the other side of her on the bed.

“You sure?”

“Yes, we both need you close. We’ve had a day.”

He nodded then rose and moved around the bed then gingerly sank down onto it and slid in beside her. She curled into him and he put his arm around her. The baby half opened her eyes to gaze drowsily at her parents as she continued suckling at a languid pace.

“Hello there, Dove,” Spike whispered.

“Is it me or is she extra cute?” Buffy asked.

“She’s extra cute. Gets that from your side. Always was a sucker for Summers women.”

“I wish Mom was here.” Now Buffy was the one tearing up.

“So do I, love. So do I.”

Sally gently knocked then popped her head in to ask, “How’s everyone getting on?”

“We’re fine _-ish_ ,” Buffy replied with a sniff.

“You just welcomed the human life you created into the world. Tears are to be expected. Looks like she’s a natural, and so are you.” She gestured towards the nursing baby.  
  


“I’ll take your word for it. She seems to like my right breast better.”  
  
“Spoiled for choice in my opinion,” Spike joked. Two of the three women in the room rolled their eyes at him. The third appeared to be drifting off.

“Preferences are not uncommon and, unless she flat-out refuses one side, not cause for concern. If you start to notice a significant difference in milk production between both sides, there are things you can do to help even her out a bit, but it’s early days. Let’s get to know each other first before we get too caught up on the particulars. I’ll leave you to continue to get acquainted. For now, just try to sleep while she sleeps. Put her in the bassinet and rest when you can. Mum needs to be looked after too. And please do let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, not planning to take my eyes off either one,” Spike assured, sounding more confident now.

“I know they are in good hands,” Sally replied with an encouraging smile then left them.

“If there’s such a thing as the world’s biggest fruit basket then Sally’s earned it,” Buffy muttered distractedly as she continued to take in the child cradled in her arms then repeated, “This is _so_ weird.”

* * * *

“That can’t be bloody normal. Let me go find Sally,” Spike commented as he dubiously appraised the contents of his daughter’s diaper.

“It’s the meconium. She explained it, remember?” Buffy assured.

“Yeah, but wasn’t expecting… _that_. Looks like it came out of a fungus demon.”

“Looks worse than it smells.”

“Small mercies. This is sodding impossible. She’s so _tiny_ and _squirmy_.”

“We’ve stopped the world from ending. We can do this.”

“Uh, hate to raise an unpleasant point, pet, but _both times_ we did that _one of us_ didn’t walk away.”

“She’s a newborn, Spike. How much trouble can she be?”

“At some point, later on when it comes up again, kindly remember that _you’re_ the one who said that.”

* * * *

“Everything alright in there, love?” Spike called into the bathroom, having insisted that Buffy leave the door ajar while she showered for the first time since giving birth in case she needed anything or started to feel lightheaded.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied as she stared into her reflection in the spot she had wiped clear on the steamy mirror.

Despite looking tired, which was hardly a _new_ look for a slayer, from the neck up anyway (she was doing her best to ignore her appearance from the neck down) she didn’t look any different. But she _was_ different. She was something _entirely new_ that she would be for the rest of her – no, for the rest of her _daughter’s_ – life. Someone’s mother. She was now responsible for raising that adorable bundle in the other room into a well-adjusted, productive and, hopefully, happy adult human being. And for keeping her safe in the meantime from God only knew what since they didn’t even know _how or why_ she existed.

Responsibility wasn’t a new look for her either. She’d carried the weight of the world on her shoulders for almost half of her life and had literally defended her little sister with her life then acted as her surrogate mother – albeit poorly, but she had been so young herself and, of course, there had been the trauma of dying then un-dying and, anyway, Dawn had turned out alright. Better than alright. She was objectively awesome. But in their real-life version of _Party of Five,_ her little sister was already a fully formed person when Buffy had assumed sole responsibility for her. Dawn had had a mother and that mother was Joyce, even if in reality it had been for less than a year and the previous fourteen years of Joyce’s love, nurturing, warmth and wisdom had been implanted by monks.

Giles had once told her that her mother had taught her everything she needed to know about life, and on one hand she agreed with him. So much of _how_ she fulfilled the role of slayer had to do with how her mother had raised her. On the other hand, she found the idea of having been taught everything she needed to know about life hilarious. When she looked into her daughter’s brand new but at the same time agelessly wise eyes, Buffy felt like she didn’t really know anything at all. Fortunately, she wasn’t alone in this new and uncharted territory. She turned away from her reflection and entered the bedroom to find Spike in consultation with their daughter as he rocked her in his arms.

“ _I love sixpence, a jolly, jolly sixpence,  
I love sixpence as my life;  
I spent a penny of it, I spent a penny of it,  
I took a penny home to my Wife._

_Oh, my little fourpence, a jolly, jolly fourpence,  
I love fourpence as my life;  
I spent twopence of it, I spent twopence of it,  
And I took twopence home to my wife._

Not your cup of tea, Dove? How about this one?

_To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,_ _  
Home again, home again, jiggety jig.  
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,  
Home again, home again, jiggety jog.  
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,  
Home again, home again, market is done._”

“Mother Goose,” Buffy observed as she towel-dried her hair.

“Trying to remember the least gruesome bits to recite to her,” he replied then looked up and inquired, “How are you feeling?”

“My body still feels like a train wreck but at least it’s no longer a funky train wreck.”

“Bollocks, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes on and you should listen to me because I’ve been checking out birds for over a century and a half. You grew this perfect little darling creature inside of you, and you are both so bloody gorgeous that it defies the Queen’s English to describe it.”

“You helped.”

“And a right sacrifice that was,” he responded with a wink.

Buffy padded over to where he sat, leaned forward to tenderly press her lips to his then placed a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead and murmured, “Thank you for being her father. I cannot imagine doing this with anyone else. I love you.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William most certainly would have heard Mother Goose nursery rhymes as a wee lad. No one is really sure how old they are, although some believe they date back as far as the Middle Ages, but Charles Perrault is generally credited with publishing the first collection (in French) of Mother Goose rhymes and tales in 1697. By the end of the 1720s his collection had been translated into English, just in time to be shared with wee lad, Liam.


	5. Chapter 4: Winter’s Summers

They moved quietly through the scraggy arctic forest; mother and father flanking either side of the sled bearing aunt and baby. A reindeer pulled the sled; a guide led the reindeer.

“She’s quiet,” Buffy observed, breaking the silence that had descended as they had ventured further into the wilderness.

“ _Totally_ chill,” Dawn concurred.

“That’s my girl,” Spike uttered, hoping that their daughter’s relaxed mood was a good omen.

They slowed to a stop as they reached a clearing on the other side of which a stand of trees appeared unnaturally, or rather supernaturally, dark under a bright winter sky lit by moonlight, starlight and the aurora borealis. Niila, their guide, turned to them then gestured across the clearing.

“This is as far as we go. Over there, you see, is the gate to her _slottet,_ her earthly palace. She will be entertaining tonight, hosting the feast of the _vintersolverv_. We never pass this way while she holds court. We leave her to it. Her time here is short; she is always gone by _julaften.”_

Spike and Buffy exchanged glances, she shrugged, and he remarked, “Won’t be the first party I’ve crashed.”

“Dawn, you good?” Buffy asked.

“Yup,” she chirped, raising her left arm to expose the gold bracelet tightly encircling her wrist.

Engraved with runes that matched those on the tiny version of the same bracelet encircling her niece’s left wrist, it was yet another failsafe created by the coven that Spike amusedly referred to as _007-meets-The Craft._ Anyone (other than the parents, of course) attempting to lay a hand on, or separate, aunt and niece would be in for one hell of an unpleasant surprise. While magic had always given him the creeps, even back in his days as an evil sod, he did not hesitate to make an exception to keep their daughter safe.

“Niila, mate, don’t wait for a signal from us. Trust your judgment. First sign of unease… anything, and I mean _anything,_ puts you off, you turn right round and take them back. We’ll fend for ourselves if it comes to it, find our own way back.”

“You have my word,” the man replied earnestly.

“Giitu,” Spike offered, thanking the man in his first language – though now but one of several of which he had command – the language of his people, the Sámi.

“What he said,” Buffy added then leaned over to kiss her daughter… just in case.

Their guide smiled and nodded then said, “I have long owed Rupert Giles a favor, since we were young men. I am grateful for the opportunity to pay it back.”

“Reckon there’s a story there, but it’ll have to wait. Ready, pet?”

“As I’ll ever be to summon a hell goddess while she’s in Martha Stewart mode.”

“Was a nice enough bird last time,” Spike remarked as they moved towards the clearing.

“Let’s maybe _not_ refer to her as a _bird_ while she’s in earshot,” Buffy proposed.

* * * *

“I’m here! I’m here! Enough!” she commanded as she materialized from the snowy whirlwind massaging her temples. Towering over the treetops. Half beautiful woman. Half rotting corpse. Same Hel, different year. Buffy and Spike ceased chanting the Old Norse Willow had written out phonetically for them then gazed expectantly up at her.

Dropping her arms to her sides, Hel looked from one to the other then said, “You… and you... Why have you summoned me away from my guests? And how does one so grotesquely mispronounce _every word?_ _Every syllable?_ ”

“Sorry,” Buffy offered wanly.

“Don’t speak the language,” Spike added with a sniff.

“What is this about? My son is behaving himself. He even joined in the parade this year.”

“Happy to hear it,” Buffy offered.

“But this isn’t about your boy,” Spike continued.

“Then what _is_ it about? I have guests waiting.”

“Right, as if you don’t know,” he replied.

She blinked bemusedly from one to the other but did not respond, prompting Buffy to groan, “Oh my God, don’t tell me you _don’t_ know.”

“Perhaps if one of you would enlighten me as to what it is that I am supposed to know… so I may get back to my guests. The Winter Solstice comes but once a year.”

“How we… I… she…” Buffy stammered.

“How I managed to put the Slayer in the family way and, far as we can tell, the night what we met you and your boy in Austria or near enough to it.”

“How you…” Hel crooked an eyebrow then added, “But you are not a living man.”

“Yeah, got that memo over a century ago, thanks ever so.”

“You mean, you really _didn’t_ do it?” Buffy demanded, her voice sounding more shrill and louder than she had intended.

“I do not possess such power.”

“But then how? Takes potent mojo to make a dad of the likes of me.”

An owl hooted.

Hel sighed and uttered, “Father.”

An owl hooted _again_.

“Father?” Buffy asked.

An owl hooted a third time.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Spike declared as it dawned on him.

The hooting continued then changed, morphing into giggles then chuckles then an all-consuming full-belly laugh, drawing the assembled party’s attention to a male figure perched on the branch of a tree. When he regained his composure, he jumped down and ambled over to them.

“Ha, will you look at this!” he exclaimed as he gave the vampire and the vampire slayer the once over.

“This is not a power you possess. What did you do, Father?”

“Held such power for one night only, my child. Won it at cards with Freyr.”

“Cheating, I presume,” Hel accused with a scowl of disapproval that looked especially damning on her.

Shrugging, he replied, “He still owes me for the boar.”

“Will someone please tell me _what the what_ is going on here before I lose my mind?!?!” Buffy interrupted.

“Where are my manners? Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Loki, at your service,” he offered with a little bow.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Hel muttered under her breath then continued in a tone that suggested she had asked this question many, many times before, “Why, Father?”

“These two… they amuse me. Neither has played by the rules set out for them. They spit in the eye of fate. They are very entertaining. I guess you could call me a fan.”

“A…” Buffy began.

“Fan?” Spike finished.

“I suppose I’m what they call a super-fan,” Loki remarked with a wink.

“But… how did you even? _We had no idea_ that we’d meet up that night. I drove up from Salzburg on a whim.”

“Indeed, you did, and I _adore_ you for it. So, after cards, I decided to see for myself what the two of you had gotten up to after your encounter with my progeny and, there you were – gorgeous, deeply in love, wonderfully in lust, and completely irrationally entangled. I guess I really am an old romantic at heart so there went my winnings.”

“Father, you took this too far. You know very well the bargain we made. To be restored, after Ragnarök, we swore an oath to stay out of earthly matters.”

“What are they going to do, chain me up with another serpent? Been there, done that, as the kids say. Besides, what harm did it do, really? So, there is a baby. Merely one of the thousands like it born every day and millions like it born every year. I just gave the vampire _a bit of a boost._ The rest was up to them. I did not lay a hand on the human, which I believe renders me _technically_ compliant with the rules. It was just dumb luck that she was fertile that night. But don’t you see? That’s what’s so great about these two and why they _so_ _amuse me._ ”

“Had no right,” Spike asserted, his hands balled tightly into fists at his sides. “Woman should be able to decide when she wants to be a mum.”

“So says the creature whose only interest in her _should_ be as a trophy or a meal. _That_ is the natural order of things, but then, _order_ has never interested me much. Gentle demon, _no one_ had grand plans for you. Not like that sourpuss sire of your sire. No one made you better. You did that all on your own, a self-made champion. You caught sight of your North Star and followed her until she led you here.

And you, glorious Valkyrie, you took what _should have been_ your greatest weakness as a warrior – keeping people close to love and to lose – and fashioned it into your greatest strength. Oh, you two are for the ages! I’ll be telling your story around the fire at vintersolverv for millennia. Speaking of, one of us really _must_ get back to the feast. Don’t be too long now, my child, Winter Solstice comes but once a year! My dear Slayer and Slayer of Slayers, it truly has been my pleasure to meet you both.” With that, he leapt into the air, retook his owl form, and flew off into the darkness.

Her shoulders slumping, Buffy asked, “What does it… what does any of it even mean? For… for her?”

“Bugger if I know, but we’ll be alright,” Spike replied as he reached for her hand.

“There are others there, across the meadow. You have brought her along?” Hel inquired.

“Yes,” Buffy replied.

“Don’t leave her, do we? Didn’t know until just now how or why she was here, if anyone had… plans. May look like a small party but, wherever she goes, she is under the protection of some mighty powerful people,” Spike explained conversationally while conveying the point that they weren’t to be trifled with.

“Understood. I do not believe that Loki’s _plans_ extend beyond amusing himself and, perhaps, making a point which I shall have to withstand the belaboring of, but… perhaps, if I could see her, I may confirm that he was being truthful about his motives.”

The new parents shared a knowing look and a nod then Spike was crossing the clearing. He soon returned with his daughter in his arms, cautious to keep his distance from the giant in front of him. Hel cocked her head and appraised the baby.

“Hmm,” she hummed then transformed before their eyes, shrinking down to human size while her living human facade crept across her body to overtake and replace the corpse half, leaving by all appearances a lovely woman standing in front of them who observed, “She is a pleasing human infant.”

“We think so,” the child’s father concurred.

“A totally normal human baby,” Buffy added with conviction.

“Yes, she is as ordinary and extraordinary as any human child,” the Norse goddess of the underworld agreed then, astonishingly, broke into a small, stately smile. The baby gazed up at her and cooed, prompting Hel to slowly extend her hand. Spike warily stood his ground – wouldn’t do to offend a hell goddess – and watched in awe as his daughter wrapped her tiny hand around Hel’s index finger.

“She is indeed a remarkably pleasing little human given her inauspicious lineage.”

Spike smirked and Buffy rolled her eyes at the backhanded compliment, but she took no notice and went on, “Should you find it agreeable to return here, from time to time, as she grows, your family will always be welcome. It was my father who did this, and that makes me beholden because I know that Loki will never be. It is not his way.”

* * * *

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Spike and Buffy lay on the bed facing one another with the baby – freshly fed, burped, and changed – between them on her back, babbling softly, occasionally waving her arms and kicking her feet. Perhaps channeling her parents’ relief, she was a beautiful, sweet-smelling bundle of contentment.

“Still processing the fact that we were basically the targets of a practical joke,” she replied.

“Disappointed that it wasn’t anything more than Loki living up to his reputation?” he asked.

“What? No. I am _so totally fine_ with there being no grand purpose besides she’s here with us and can just be a kid… well, a kid with an undead father, a slayer mother, and an extended family full of people with unusual jobs and/or hobbies. Oh, and now a hell godmother. I know they say it takes a village, and this is one freaky village.”

“No such thing as normal, pet, and even without any major conspiracy she has parents what have made some powerful enemies.”

“I know, and I’ll take all the trustworthy allies I can get. I mean Hel… just _wow,_ was _so_ not expecting that.”

“Really is quite taken, not that I blame her. Our sprog is exquisite if I say so myself. Charms gods, she does.”

“Our sprog still needs a name,” Buffy advised with a sigh.

“Been thinking about that. Given how she came to be ours, feel like we owe Hel her due.”

“I am not naming my daughter Hel, Spike.”

“How about dressing it up a bit? Helena? Was thinking of that for her middle name.”

Buffy bit her lip in consideration and responded, “That’s… actually kind of nice. Better than anything I’ve come up with so far. Okay, we’re halfway there.”

“Something the trickster sod said tonight got me thinking she should be named for her mum.”

“Me? A world of no. We already ruled out naming her after a family member. I want her name to be unique.”

“Wasn’t proposing that my child be named _Buffy_ ,” he stated with a wry smile.

“But you just said…”

“Loki called you my North Star, and he is spot on. Moment I set eyes on you, became my beacon, you did. Wouldn’t be what I am now, or have what I do now, without my guiding light what led me out of the darkness. And that’s _you_ , Buffy.”

“You want to name her North? Or Star? I don’t think so,” she remarked, wrinkling her nose.

“Polaris, love,” he clarified with an affectionate smile. “The North Star. Can call her Polly for short.”

“Polaris… Polaris Helena Summers,” Buffy recited then deliberated a moment and said, “He was right about you too. Whatever it was you saw in me, you made your own path to being who you are now, so she’ll be named after you too. I like it.”

“Besides, was thinking on the way back, P.H. Summers sounds like a bloody brilliant name for a Nobel Prize-winning scientist, or maybe a best-selling mystery writer.”

“Can we wait until she masters solid food before we start piling on the expectations?” Buffy teased then added, “I’ll call Giles tomorrow. He’s going to be ecstatic that we can finally make it official. I knew there was an upside to having a poet for a partner,” she added with a grin then propped herself up and leaned over the newly-christened Polly to kiss Spike.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of Hel and Loki are almost entirely of my creation, much more closely resembling members of one side of my family than members of the Norse Pantheon.


	6. Chapter 5: Fathers and Daughters

Spike blinked his eyes open then turned over to see Buffy sitting up in bed feeding Polly. She looked over at him and smiled a smile that would make his heart skip a beat if it beat to begin with. With their child at her breast, she was radiant… she was… yeah, she was _effulgent,_ and he didn’t give a toss who heard him say so. Christ, how he loved her.

He smiled back, but his un-beating heart wasn’t in it. _Why now_ , he wondered. Because the pressure was off? Because there was no fine print after all, no sodding asterisk? Because Polaris Helena Summers was _really theirs_ , no strings attached? How else to explain a night of unsettling dreams?

Dreams of Robin Wood. Not as Spike had known him that last year in Sunnydale, but as the small child whose mother had been taken from him. _By Spike._ Confused. Scared. Lonely. Small. So bloody small. A wee little man in a wee little suit and tie and a pair of wee little spit-shine shoes, staring up at him with large, deep brown, tear-stained eyes. Accusatory. Beseeching. Demanding his mother back.

“Spike?”

“Sorry, love, did you say something?”

“Several things, actually. What’s up?”

“Nothing, pet. Just got a bit distracted is all,” he assured.

* * * *

“You going to tell me what’s going on with Spike?” Dawn inquired, looking up from her book as her sister entered the den with her niece.

“You noticed,” Buffy replied over her shoulder as she leaned forward to put Polly in her lounger.

“That the lights are on but nobody’s home? Uh, yeah, I noticed.”

Settling in beside her sister on the sofa, Buffy sighed and said, “Wish I knew. Last night he was all about naming her and how she’s going to be a Nobel Prize winning mystery writer and, today…” She shrugged.

“I don’t think they give out the Nobel Prize for mystery writing,” Dawn commented.

“ _A mile_ beside the point, but… there’s something bothering him. I just wish he’d tell me what it is.”

“Have you tried, you know, asking him?”

“Yeah, and he said it was nothing.”  
  


“Well, it’s _something._ Spike is like _the worst_ at hiding his emotions.”

“I’ll take another run at him when he comes back from his walk.”

“He is back, I think, in the grillikota.”

“The what now?”

“The barbeque hut in the yard, that’s what it’s called. I Googled it. When I was in the kitchen, I noticed smoke rising from the chimney. Either he’s in there or we have squatters.”

Buffy hopped up from the couch and, gesturing towards her daughter asked, “Do you mind?”

“Hanging with my Polly-Wolly-Doodle? Never.”

“Polly… wolly… what?”

“You know, like the song. _Polly wolly doodle all day…”_ Dawn sang.

“Great,” Buffy muttered sardonically. Grabbing her coat, she slipped into it and flipped her hair up over the collar then remarked, “She isn’t even four months yet and we’ve already managed to ruin her life.”

* * * *

Spike was indeed in the cute little hut in the yard, staring so intently into the fire that Buffy wasn’t sure that her arrival had even registered. She pulled the door closed gently behind her then moved around the grill spit to take a seat on the faux fur-covered bench ringing it. She took in the little haven – the warm glow of the fire was enhanced by candlelit lanterns and someone had strung a delicate row of fairy lights to add to the charm – and smiled appreciatively. In this part of the world the darkness didn’t feel sinister or dangerous; it felt warm and inviting like a comfy blanket. Like the people who had made a life here forever had figured out a way to embrace the darkness, to thrive in it, instead of railing against it and, in return, the darkness nurtured them.

“I like it here,” she offered.

“Hmm?”

“It’s pretty, the people are nice and, this time of year, you can come and go as you please. No sizzle. Part of me is sorry that we have to head back tomorrow but, obviously, everyone is looking forward to spoiling the heck out of Polly and celebrating the no imminent world-endage. Dawn had an interesting idea though. Maybe next year we can come back to visit Hel then stay on to celebrate the holidays. We could get a bigger house, invite our friends to join us. Make it an annual tradition, maybe.”

Spike nodded absently in reply.

“Oh, by the way, right after the new year, I’m heading to L.A. to shack up with Angel for a few weeks for old-time’s sake. You won’t mind watching Polly while I’m gone, will you?”

“’Course not, pet… wait, what?” He turned to look at her, brow furrowed.

“Hi, I’m Buffy. What’s your name?”

“Sorry, love, just a bit…”

“Distracted, I know, and we’re not leaving this cute little troll hut until you tell me what’s distracting you.”

“It’s nothing… don’t want to… my burden to bear not yours.”

“So, all those times over the last year that you told me I’m your wife in all the ways that matter it was just a bunch of hooey?”

“No, love, meant every word. Every time.”

“Then I need you to talk to me. Communicating has always been my third rail in relationships, and seeing you check out right after we got like the best news ever last night feeds all my insecurities. You have to know that. A year ago, I probably would have pretended there was nothing wrong and gone out patrolling to find something to take it out on, but we have a kid now, Spike. Not an option anymore. We’re a team – team Polly – and teams need to be on the same page.”

He nodded then sighed, gazed up at the ceiling and disclosed, “Had dreams last night. Bad dreams.”

“Okay, so tell me about them.”

“Were about Nikki’s boy.”

“Robin? You were dreaming about Sunnydale? The First? The time you two… he…”

“Don’t I wish. Dreamt he were just a wee little man, crying over his mum while looking the evil sod what took her away from him in the eye. Fuck, Buffy, but he was so little then.”

She nodded. What could she say? It had happened. It was a fact.

“Moment you told me we were having her, all I could think about were all the wrong I’d done, and I was terrified that them I love would pay the price for it. Peaches helped me put my head on straight so I could be some bloody use to you. Still figured there’d be a price to pay though because there’s always a price to pay, you know it. Been around the block a bit, seen it time and again. But then I find out that I’m in the bloody clear. Why, Buffy? Why me? Don’t bloody deserve it, do I? Not you. Not them…” He gestured towards the house then added, “None of it.”

Buffy sat back and drew in a deep breath. What did _deserve_ even have to do with it? She loved him. Had loved him a long time. Had wanted him even longer than that, some secret, hidden part of herself maybe forever even if she hadn’t had the faintest idea of what to do with him back then. Hell, sometimes she still didn’t, but that didn’t mean she could imagine life without him in it now because much like the people who had long ago figured out how to make a life in perpetual darkness part of every year, she had figured out how to embrace the dark parts of him. Without the dark parts he wouldn’t be Spike. Her love. Her partner. Father of her child.

“I’m not going to tell you that it’s alright because it isn’t. Killing Nikki was _not_ alright. _All the people_ you killed, bad, but you’re a vampire and that’s what vampires do. Well, most of them. So, yeah, it’s what you did until you didn’t anymore. That’s in the past, over and done with, and I can’t tell you how to live with it because I have no idea. The only thing I can say is that _Polaris Helena, our daughter,_ deserves you. Look at me.”

Buffy took his hand and waited for him to meet her eyes then continued, “She deserves the type of father someone like me could even imagine saying yes to having a child with. She’s _my kid,_ Spike, so even if there isn’t some big conspiracy brewing now, _you know_ she’s bound to get into trouble… eventually, something neither of us will even think of or see coming. And you know why that doesn’t terrify me to death? Because I know you. I know how you fight for the people you care about. I saw how you fought for Dawn. I’ve _lived_ how you’ve fought for me _._ Even before, I saw the way you fought for Drusilla. So, if we’re talking about _deserving_ then that’s what matters to me. What _she_ deserves. And that’s _you_.”

“Oh, pet,” he croaked then leaned in to press his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She kissed the tears from his cheeks then kissed his lips. The kisses lengthened and deepened. The fire was warm; she was warm and getting warmer by the minute. She scrambled up onto her knees on the bench, shrugging out of her coat and urging Spike’s coat off him, while striving to maintain contact, kissing him as though her life depended on it. Desperate, hungry, possessive kisses that conveyed _you’re mine._

Since Polly had been born, from the moment they had known they were expecting her really, their focus had shifted from one another to her, as was to be expected under any circumstances let alone the uniqueness of theirs. It had been reflected in their lovemaking, throughout her pregnancy and since they had resumed the physical side of their relationship after Buffy’s body had healed post-delivery. It had been tender and sweetly bonding and Spike had been _so reverent_. She had no complaints but, God, she realized how much she had missed the raw passion, the fucking that was a lot like fighting, a contest to see who could more thoroughly undo the other that more often than not ended in a draw.

When she drew back to pull her sweater over her head, the look on his face was a priceless combination of surprise and lust that was so sexy she just had to lean in to take that pretty, pouty bottom lip of his between her teeth and tug on it. That seemed to remind the big bad of who he was and suddenly his hands were as quick and devious as ever and, before she knew it, Buffy found herself nude and splayed across Spike’s lap. His body thrumming in need against hers, he looked at her with an expression that could best be described as _ravenous_. They didn’t have a lot of room, and even in their fervor had taken care that none of their hastily-discarded clothing ended up on the fire because an inferno would have been a major mood-killer. But they’d had sex in a lot less comfortable settings, lots of times; they’d manage.

“Slayer,” he purred in that aphrodisiac voice of his; his eyes looked dark, dangerous in the firelight.

“Vampire,” she sighed, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes.

“I bloody love you.”

“Then prove it.”

He did. Twice.

When they returned to the house, Dawn discreetly took in their appearance then shot their daughter a look as if the two of them had made a wager of some kind but did not comment other than to inquire, “Spaghetti for dinner?”

* * * *

After a diaper change and perfunctory late-night feeding, Buffy soon nodded off again but neither Spike nor Polly was quite ready to return to the land of nod, so he bundled her up and took her out to the porch to point out her namesake and some of its notable neighbors in the northern sky. Rocking her gently, he pressed his lips to her forehead and inhaled her sweet scent, a heady combination of her mum, something uniquely her own and a trace of himself. She gazed drowsily up at him and yawned.

“I love you, my sweet Polly,” he whispered.

One day he would explain it all to her, his story, not in vivid technicolor detail but the important bits because when he looked into those stunning aquamarine eyes of hers, he could already see that she was a force to be reckoned with, that she would not take kindly to being deceived. About her family, _both sides_. He would tell her that once upon a time, a long time ago, he had been a man then he had become a monster and then something else, something that fell somewhere in between because from the first time he set eyes on her mother, he had found himself wanting something else, _something more_ of his undead existence _._

He wouldn’t sugar coat it; he would make it clear what he had been before and how he had come to be who he was now. It would be a risk, he knew. Would she be repulsed by him? Turn away from him? Reject him forever? He hoped not, but it did not matter in the end. What mattered was the truth. Her truth. As his daughter, she had a right to know where she had come from, how she had wondrously come to be here, and what a rare and precious gift her life was. To do with as she saw fit. To make of it what she would.

“C’mon, Dove, time to go in out of the cold, back to Mum.”

**TBC**


	7. Epilogue: Night

Spike was seated alone in the filthy, graffiti-covered empty subway car when it slowed to a stop. She got on, raised her eyebrows when her eyes met his then took a seat across from him. She watched the doors close before turning her attention to him and speaking.

“Back in the day you’d never catch me sitting in this filth but nothing in here can hurt me now.”

“Slayer,” he greeted with a nod, eyeing her duster.

Crooking an eyebrow at him she remarked, “Fine job _you_ did taking care of it.”

“Not my fault,” he replied with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms at her chest then inquired, “What’s this about, Vampire?”

“Think you know.”

“Whatever is going on in that head of yours is your problem not mine.”

“Was your boy I orphaned.”

“Yeah, and _one of us_ wasn’t walking off this train that night. Your girl wouldn’t have been born if I was the one who did. Think I’d be wringing my hands over that now?”

“Not the same. You know it.”

“What _I know_ is that it isn’t my job to absolve you. What _I know_ is that my boy is no longer any of your concern. Or your business. He isn’t a part of this anymore, _your_ world, _our_ world. When you closed that hellmouth, he moved on from all of it and is making his mark in the world as an educator, a leader, a successful Black man. He let go of the burden of who his mama was, and how she died, and lives his life to make her proud. Every day. He let go of _you_. We don’t belong to you, Vampire, no way, no how. Best you worry about and look after the people who do. _”_

The train was slowing down again so she stood up and moved to the door. As it rolled to a stop she shot over her shoulder, “Mind you, you ever get word that my boy’s in the kind of trouble you can help with, you’d do well to get that skinny white ass of yours over there, whether he asks or not.”

“Deal,” Spike agreed.

“Got that right, deal,” she muttered without looking back as she stepped off the train, her head held high.

* * * *

Spike awoke with a start to find himself on the couch. The house was mercifully quiet and dark. He ran a hand over his face as he wondered how long he had been out. It was amazing the capacity that a barely seven-month-old, teething human baby possessed to exhaust her supernaturally-gifted parents. Buffy had looked downright relieved to be taking a squad of slayers-in-training out on patrol, but she was back now. The portable baby monitor that was largely redundant to his demon ears was gone, her coat was hanging by the door and he could feel her presence in the house. Was sweet of her not to wake him, although he really wouldn’t have minded. He would have liked to have heard about her evening, but she would tell him all about it tomorrow… er, today?

_Bugger, what time is it?_

He rose from the sofa and padded into the kitchen of the terraced, three-bedroom home they had recently rented in South London. Three levels – common areas on the ground floor, his and Buffy’s bedroom and the nursery on the first floor, and Dawn’s bedroom (when she was home from uni) and a loft/storage area that they used as a training room on the second floor – complete with tidy back garden and charming little garden shed. Only thing missing were the sodding gnomes. As he watched a mug of blood rotate in the microwave, his lips quirked at the fact that, God help him, he was now part of the British middle classes. He was thoroughly domesticated; maybe _that_ was his comeuppance.

After draining and rinsing his mug, he climbed the stairs to check on Polly before slipping into bed beside Buffy, a miraculous privilege he was certain he would never get over and, if he ever did, would serve him bloody right if he lost it. When he entered the nursery, he smiled affectionately at what he found. Buffy’s boots haphazardly discarded just inside the doorway, which he had learned to check for after nearly tripping over them more than once. He arranged them neatly out of the way then sat down in the glider chair next to the crib, in which mother currently lay curled around sleeping daughter.

“I was desperate,” Buffy whispered. “She wouldn’t let me put her down after I fed her. She’s cutting two more teeth on the upper right.”

“How was your night, pet?”

“Okay. Yours?”

“Nary a complaint.”

And that was true enough. He would tell her all about his conversation with Nikki. In the morning. For now, he was content to follow the slayer’s advice and watch over his family.

**FIN**


End file.
